THE MICHAEL DOUGLAS
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HE SAID SHE SAID
Two very different views on the making of
"Disclosure" with Michael Douglas and Demi Moore
by Rebecca Walsh and Benjamin Svetky
Entertainment Weekly
Day One: We arrive on the set at 11 a.m. sharp-in time to observe filming on the 10th floor of an old office tower in downtown Seattle. Douglas has already been here for hours, shooting a scene in the office of his lawyer (played by Roma Maffia). Between takes, he is cordial and polite to us both-although his eye may tend to linger on one of us more than the other. When he breaks for lunch, he promises, the interviews will commence.
Rebecca: Waves lap at the dockside Seattle restaurant, reflecting prisms of sunlight so brilliantly that even the diners inside keep their sunglasses on. I have requested an hour to interview Michael Douglas. Instead, he's granted me twice that amount of time, plus the opportunity to slurp salty oysters and drink chardonnay. At 50, he is no Brad Pitt. But he's still sexy enough to play opposite the luscious Moore, 32, and make moviegoers believe that her character can't help herself when she paws at Douglas' pants. With a reporter, Douglas does his job and does it well: He's thoughtful and attentive, and if the words are canned, the spin is smooth. "I think there's a gender war going on-I don't think we're comfortable with our roles," he says, sounding utterly comfortable in his. "Everything is breaking down, and harassment is an issue one can identify more clearly. But it's existed throughout time. We're not comfortable with each other, and we're acting out in lots of different ways."
For the next hour, he plays the diligent interviewee. "Have you ever talked to ladies about the dichotomy in what they want in a man? They say 'understanding,' but then they end up being attracted to a dominating guy," he purrs, running his fingers through his hair. "On one hand we're promoting understanding, and yet women tend to s--- on those guys. But the guy who dominates sexually or is aggressive turns them on."
Throughout he is lobbing questions at me. When I question the comparative likelihood of a woman's harassing a man, he says: "Are you not secure enough in the thought that there might be people doing it? You feel to a degree that it does not exist?" And later he gets personal, with questions like "You're married? How long? You want to have kids? You got married very young, huh?" He breaks off, only to focus on a spot on my neck. "Did you scratch yourself or rub yourself?"
Ben: "Try the tuna on whole wheat," one of my luncheon companions suggests. "They make dynamite tuna fish in this place."
This place is a neo-hippie cafeteria-cum-bookstore a few blocks from the set. While Rebecca is interviewing Doug-
las, I'm stuck with the movie's publicists, a pair of seasoned vets with long, illustrious careers in the publicity game. For the next hour or so they regale me with spine-tingling tales of their adventures in flackdom.
I've been on the set less than three hours, and already it's abundantly clear where our bold experiment in he-says-she-says journalism is heading: Rebecca gets to clink wineglasses with a movie star at a fancy restaurant. And I get tuna on whole wheat.
Of course, having read Disclosure-the 1993 Michael Crichton best-seller on which the movie is based-I should be prepared for the worst. The story presents a nightmare scenario of sexual politics run amok. The plot: A male computer-company executive (Douglas) gets harassed by his hot-to-trot female boss (Moore) and must fight to save his career and marriage. There's also a wily story line about industrial intrigue in the high-tech biz (Donald Sutherland plays an oily computer-company founder-president), some nifty virtual-reality special effects, and one of the steamiest sex scenes ever not consummated on the big screen.
Like Fatal Attraction, in which Douglas wrestled with infidelity, or Indecent Proposal, in which Moore wrestled with Robert Redford, Disclosure will undoubtedly be a movie that has men and women debating gender politics as they file out of the theater. The book certainly stirred up trouble, outraging feminists with its harassment-happens-to-men-too plot twist. In fact, one can't help but wonder if that's a reason Douglas was attracted to the project in the first place. The man has certainly shown a penchant for contentious material (see Wall Street, The War of the Roses, Basic Instinct, Falling Down). I'd love to ask him about it-if I ever get the chance.
As soon as Douglas returns from lunch, he's hustled off to wardrobe before he can deliver so much as a sound bite in my general direction. "Be patient," one of the publicists says, patting me on the back. "You'll get your turn."
My turn turns out to be four hours later, after sundown, when Douglas allows me about 25 minutes in his cramped trailer. No time for subtlety, so I pitch my questions rapid-fire. On picking his parts: "I like to go against the grain with the roles that I do," he says. "I don't think of this character as a victim. I think of him as a contemporary hero. To me, anyone who struggles with a moral dilemma and overcomes it is heroic."
On feminist backlash against Disclosure: "A lot of feminists are concerned about women playing villains," he says. "It's interesting. Male actors love playing villains. It's a big part of our careers. But it's an issue with women. I think back to (when I was producing) Cuckoo's Nest. We had five actresses turn down (the Nurse Ratched) role because they didn't want to play a heavy. Then Louise Fletcher won an Oscar for it."
On sexual harassment: "It's nothing new. It goes back to men dragging women by their hair into the cave. It's just that now it's become this issue. It's like I was telling Rebecca over lunch: I think we're in the middle of a gender war. I think guys are confused these days. I think they feel their role has been usurped. Who's the provider? Who's the nurturer? Who knows anymore? It's a big problem. I mean, if we followed the rules, we'd all be these sensitive, upstanding, compassionate men-and no women would want us. Women want aggressive guys who lay it on the line. It's really confusing for men these days."
"Fortunately," he says, standing up and flashing an end-of-the-interview smile, "I don't have to worry about it. I'm a happily married man."
Not a terrible interview, I decide. I'd have preferred oysters and white wine, but then there's always Demi...
The First Night: By a strange twist of hotel kismet, one of us (guess who) has been booked into a jumbo suite, while the other is stuck in an overheated single with a view of a construction site (jackhammering begins promptly at 8 a.m.). Exhausted from our day on the set, we settle in for a good night's rest. Or at least one of us does
Rebecca: I'm thinking about what Douglas said at lunch, especially a comment he made about artificial insemination causing confusion in society. I'm not necessarily clear on that part, but I am actually falling for his isn't-it-terrible-to-be-a-sensitive-man speech when the phone rings: It's Douglas' publicist, wondering if I would like to join the actor and him for dinner and a concert in an hour. Alas, there is only one extra ticket.
Ben: It's downright amazing how many stations this hotel's cable television picks up. Why, a fellow could spend hours and hours merrily flipping across the dial
DAY TWO: On location at a busy Seattle street corner. We'll spend the next six hours here, watching the cameras watch Douglas enter and exit an office building.
Donald Sutherland approaches, shouting out pleasantries in a basso profundo voice. He agrees to let me interview him now and leads me across the street to the one available chair, upon which he sits. "Can I tell you," he says, looking up at me plaintively, "I've had such bad luck with journalists. I've been sincere and honest and open, and they have been dishonest."
I awkwardly switch the subject. "Are you aware of gender differences?" I ask. "I'm aware of it right now," he says, only slightly joking. "I'm aware of it with every feeling that there is. You're a woman, I'm a man, and I try to deal with this in a very particular, careful way. I'm a hundred thousand times more careful (than I would have been five years ago)," he says, running his fingers through his white hair (what is it with these men and their hair?).
"For example?" I ask.
He looks at me intently. "I don't mention that scar on your lip. I don't mention anything."
"On the news this morning they were talking about sexual harassment," he says, "and this man who was charged (with it) by other people in the office when he was seen embracing a young woman. The reason he was embracing her was that her mother had died, and he was consoling her."
A production assistant calls him over to a green Jaguar, which he is to rehearse driving around the block for the next half hour. Five minutes later, the same assistant escorts me to the car as well, at Sutherland's request, to finish the interview. I ease into the sumptuous leather interior, suddenly very aware that I'm getting into a car with a total stranger, and he's driving.
"We can't have harassment," he says, inching the car forward to its mark. "It's the same as racism. Why should a man or a woman be treated differently because of their gender?"
Then, while he concentrates on the road, his conversation takes a slightly odd turn. "Look at the animal kingdom and how the males and females act with each other. It's sexual, and mating is the issue. I don't think we were meant to be together. It was all right when we had specific tasks to keep us from being loose cannons, but now it's very dangerous."
"Maybe you're right," I respond, wanting to prove that journalists can, after all, be agreeable. "I think you may be right."
"Really?" He turns and gives me a mischievous, caught-you-in-the-game grin. "I thought we were having a nice time."
"You need to establish intimacy with a reporter to do these sorts of interviews," Donald Sutherland is telling a publicist, possibly unaware he's being overheard. "I think I have that with her, but not with him."
So, Rebecca's in, I'm out. Instead, I get to interview director Barry Levinson, who's setting up a very nonintimate shot in one of Seattle's cavernous underground bus stations. Originally, Milos Forman was slated to direct Disclosure, but there were rumors of problems between him and Crichton. "I don't know much about it," insists Levinson. "I think it was one of those creative-difference things."
Levinson, of course, is the inspired auteur behind such dazzling films as Diner; Good Morning, Vietnam; Rain Man; and Avalon. Unfortunately, he's also ^ the guy who made 1994's Jimmy Hollywood and 1992's Toys-two colossal flops that had critics wondering if the Academy Award-winning director had finally hit a dry well. Naturally, one of my questions is how much Levinson feels he has riding on Disclosure's success.
"I've given up trying to make those sorts of judgments," he says. "I never have any idea if (the movie I'm making) is going to be any good or not. When I made Good Morning, Vietnam, nobody told me it was even close to a good idea for a film. Nobody told me they thought Rain Man was a good idea. You want to make the best movie you can make and hope that it does well."
I ask him to describe Disclosure. "I think if you simply look at it as a story about a man who gets sexually harassed, you're missing something. What this movie does is take a problem we have in society-sexual harassment-and turn it on its side. And when you turn something on its side, you take away all the preconceived ideas you had about it. It makes you reevaluate your definitions of what sexual harassment is all about.
"When I did Diner," he continues, "I thought that piece was about guys' inability to understand women, their fear of women, their inadequacies about women. Men and women in that movie -they were like separate tribes that couldn't get together. I'm making the same sort of movie (with Disclosure). Except it's on a different scale."
He can say that again: Disclosure's reported $32 million budget makes Diner look like a student film. Some of that is being spent on elaborate special effects-a way-cool virtual-reality chamber that Douglas' character plugs into during the film's edgy climax. Levinson also had an entire three-story building constructed in Los Angeles for the interior shots of the computer- company offices, complete with more than a hundred state-of-the-art working computers (running programs designed from scratch specifically for the film). And great sums were spent on attracting the film's top-dollar talent: more than $12 million for Douglas, $5 million for Moore.
Speaking of star power, Sutherland has had a sudden change of heart: He's agreed to let me interview him for exactly five minutes on the street corner. I start by lobbing a Wiffle-ball first question: Basically, what's the difference between Disclosure the book and Disclosure the movie?
"You shouldn't use the word basically," he answers. "People use the word basically like they use the words you know. It makes you sound ignorant."
The interview goes downhill from there.
DAY THREE: We sit in an airless, stuffy office, waiting for our individual turns with Demi Moore. We read the papers. We make phone calls. We peel off layers of clothes. We pace. We hardly speak-it's too hot to speak-but when we do, we growl. After two hours, we hear a voice like fine-grain sandpaper coming from the hallway. The star has arrived.
"Have I ever been sexually harassed?" Demi Moore almost does a spit take with the bottle of mineral water she's been sipping. "Gee, that's hard to say. It depends on how you define it. I don't think I've ever been harassed to the point of tremendous discomfort. I've certainly had my share of sexual innuendo, but I don't think I've been pushed and badgered beyond the limit. I guess I've been pretty lucky."
Lucky in more ways than one. Originally, Annette Bening was slated to play Disclosure's heavy-but she pulled out when she got pregnant. Then Geena Davis was said to be up for the part-but she wasn't available. For Moore, the part was a welcome chance to slip her on-screen persona into something a little less comfortable.
"I'd never played a villain before," she says. "So that was attractive to me. Plus, Barry Levinson was really conscious of making sure that all the women in the film were very balanced. It's not as if you just see one point of view of women. They're not all villains. Michael's lawyer in the movie is a woman. The judge in the movie is a woman. And there's also Michael's wife. In the book she gets sent away somewhere. But in the movie she's a very strong presence. She's smart, she's tough, she's a lawyer. In a lot of ways, you get a more rounded view of women here than you do in a lot of movies that don't even touch on this type of subject matter."
One of those rounded views is of a semi-unzipped Moore in a heated clinch with Douglas in the film's pivotal harassment-interruptus scene. Of course, Moore has bared herself for the camera before. "But doing a love scene in a movie is totally different than posing nude in front of a still camera," she says. "In nude pictures, it's not about sex. It's more about the architecture of the body. Being naked for a still camera is more about art. It's a celebration and admiration of the body. But doing a scene with another person in a movie, that's different. You have this other person touching you and invading your space."
Frankly, I'm a bit disappointed with the way this is going. Sure, she's . giving great quote. But given how the experiment worked for Rebecca, by now Moore should be inviting me home for Thanksgiving dinner. I finally break down and tell her what's going on.
"You'd think that Michael and Donald would have been very careful to give you equal time," she consoles me. "It's funny, isn't it? It's ironic. I certainly wouldn't want to try to untangle the minds of men in general, let alone those two. Maybe they just felt safer with a woman reporter? Maybe they were just more comfortable with a woman?"
Right. And maybe Venus is made of cream cheese.
Moore is perfectly chic in a gray suit, her long hair coiffed into submission. She has given birth to her third daughter with Bruce Willis only months before, but she is as lithe as ever, if a bit bustier. She appears to be one of those women who make life quite hard for the rest of us: She's got a brilliant career; a rich, famous, successful husband; three kids; and a body that a 17-year-old would kill for. Ben has told her about the experiment and how it's gone, and she's eager to hear my side. "What do you think about the fact that you've been wined and dined?" she asks, settling into an armchair and crossing her legs. When I tell her I'm pleased, but Ben's nose is a bit out of joint, she nods earnestly. "I'd say both Michael and Donald are extremely charming men, and two men who enjoy women. But they aren't blinded by a woman."
What about her, I ask. Has it made her life in Hollywood more or less difficult to be a woman, and a woman who looks like that? "I can't take responsibility for how people react," she says. "Just like it's not my responsibility if I say something that angers them. Nor is it my responsibility if I do something that provokes a sensual or sexual response. Now here we draw a fine line," she says. "If I sit here like this," she laughs, hiking her skirt up and spreading her legs, "I have to take a little bit of responsibility."
But, she continues, "I don't need to be self-conscious about being a sexual person. That's why women were burned at the stake as witches," she says, fresh from researching her next role, the Puritan adulterer Hester Prynne in The Scarlet Letter. "Because of men's discomfort with their needs and the desires of a woman, as if she were an evil being testing them."
Moore admits that stepping into such treacherous stilettos was frightening. "At the beginning (of filming), I was a wreck. It scared the s--- out of me. I've never showed up for a show where I literally started shaking before every scene. I've never stepped into someone who's so cunning-she's just really scary."
Perhaps Moore makes no apologies for her role because she doesn't believe in doing so for herself. "I don't feel that I have to deny my sensuality to be perceived as somebody who is strong, focused, and ambitious. The women who walked before us and said 'Burn your bras' came out with such a strong feminist stand they kind of denied a certain part of themselves."
Just as Douglas has returned again and again to the role of victimized man, Moore has been unafraid to play politically incorrect roles (see Indecent Proposal and her nude Vanity Fair covers). Still, she sees no paradox in being a feminist and playing a femme fatale. "There's no way this movie is going to escape without criticism, and criticism for (my character) Meredith," she says. "But I can go home at night and feel good about it because it promotes change just by the mere fact that it's promoting thought."
The Last Night: After leaving the set for the last time, we have dinner together and compare notes on our noble experiment and the issues of sexual politics and gender stereotypes it raised.
"So what have you learned from all of this?" Rebecca asks. Ben pauses. "Never use the word basically."
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